Watashi-tachi no Monogatari
It was her scent.
Her strawberry hair and that distinct sweet whiff of honey as the wind passed through her that made Uchiha Sasuke lose his usual stance and comfortably rest his chin on the top of her head.
It was her scent still. That strawberry goodness, that made him remember childhood breakfasts and long afternoon naps, enveloped him like the immediate air his lungs needed. And slowly, it enchanted him. And heedlessly his head moved so that his lips were kissing her silky pink hair.
It tickled him. And he could almost taste her; it's drawing him deeper into a trance. That moment, he didn't care; he knew he wanted her as true as the snow was white outside her bland window.
In frustration, his free hand travelled up her nape to lock her in, his lips riddling from her head to her soul. And everything fell into place.
For she stopped sobbing as soon as his gentleness was realized. She didn't understand what was he was doing. But to have him hold her hand right in that moment made her open up her heart so painstakingly, yet still as readily as a little girl to the promise of young love.
This was the man whom she had harbored hatred to. The very man who had tried to take her life twice. And yet the only man she had loved too much that she was prepared to have the burden of killing only to stop him from sinking deeper into the path of darkness.
She had made that resolve a long, long time ago. But after she had witnessed the dark circles around his eyes as he laughed that scary, maniacal laugh, she knew she was too late. And she had just stopped caring.
But today, he was caring for her.
And it was enough for her to hold his hand back and held on to him for support.
It was his lips, as icy as death, that emanated warmth from the depths of her heart. It was those lips that suddenly unearthed those cobwebbed hopes she had exhumed a thousand times before. And his hand, as deadly as the talons of a hawk, at the back of her neck made her jump up and clutch at the obstructive cloth covering his chest.
His other hand, which was holding hers, went to touch her face, never letting go of her gentle fingers. He pressed his lips on her head more forcefully, taking in more of her scent, more of her soul.
And she filled him with longing and vague joy that kept him in a sudden high.
This moment, everything was forgotten. She wasn't Haruno Sakura, the disillusioned woman who once had viewed the world with innocence and everything nice. He wasn't Uchiha Sasuke, the international criminal who once had brought evil to the world all in the fulfillment of his revenge.
Instead, they were two wandering creatures, vulnerable to time and emptiness a lone path could bring. Two nameless creatures only acquainted by past relations and separated by history and cruel circumstances. Both fated to meet again, trying to heal their own hearts with nothing more than intertwined fingers and subtle kisses.
"Sasuke… kun…" she barely whispered, as she turned to kiss the palm that melted her skin to cotton. And this was sinful as it was celestial. She cursed her heart for having been undone in just a few gestures.
Persephone.
She was the innocent maiden who tasted pomegranates of the Underworld. She was that innocent maiden who had liked and loved the feel of the darkness. She was the goddess who came back to search for herself anew and returned to spring with the people who mattered. But in the end, it was the Underworld she would always go back to.
For her heart had tasted pomegranates and desired it.
It was an invitation. Yet something sensible suddenly passed his mind, warning him that things might escalate to something irreversible. That it might be something they would both regret, given that history was complicated, and forgiveness wasn't easily given away like candies.
But if tomorrow would lead them apart again, would tonight be a reminder that at one point in time they were able to put away their differences to heal?
The butterflies on his palm were sensual. The softness of her skin was delightful.
It was an invitation.
And he cupped her cheeks with that palm tendered with her kisses. His other hand slid from her nape to her chin, pulling her face up to face him.
And then, he kissed her.
And first there was doubt. He had never been with a woman before. In fact, he had never really been this intimate with any human being. And he didn't plan to start now. But something about her, about this atmosphere, about him, told him to just be gentle, and let go.
And then there was hesitation. He just planted his lips on hers like it was the proper way of doing it, like a twelve-year-old stealing his first kiss. Yet tingles came after. And next was curiosity. Of how she would react when he traced her collarbone with his fingers, or if she'd push him away should he bury his face on her pink hair.
It was an interplay of emotions. But in the end, as she moved her lips to dance with his, there was total submission.
His teeth bit soft muscles, his tongue felt soft skin. She still tasted like green tea they had for dinner, bitter yet soothing. It made it felt like all the bitterness in her life was being breathed out into him.
He, in turn, was ready to take it all in…
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, pulling him down. He obeyed, bending his body to meet hers. And, she had better access on his hair. Her fingers played with every dark strands, every root that were once bathed in that distinct scent of death, of blood, of dirt. And yet, she combed them to purify with her hands, and pulled them in every surge of passion.
How do you fix a disenchanted woman, back to being that cheery child he had once known her for? Was this how? Exchanges of kisses that they both knew didn't cross the lines of love? Only kisses brought about by mere circumstances and painful loneliness?
Would they both transcend the cruel hands of time, should they carry on with this lustful activity? Or would it just be another night of their lives?
He didn't care, though. As he nibbled the sweet cartilage of her ears, and she sorely scratched her fingers on his scar-filled back, he didn't care. Yet he wanted more than just the taste of her skin, of the melting of her body as it arched to touch his. He wanted her soul, and he wanted her to pour it all out for him.
However, he didn't understand why he would want that, what he would do if she had given him her soul. Would he keep it between the palms of his hands? Or would he give it back, in missing pieces, after he had taken in the scent of it? Would she, in the first place, hand it over that easily?
Did she still have her soul with her? Or did he have to look for it?
Would she be looking for his, in return?
His hands roamed about her, as if searching. He didn't know if he was searching in the right places, but she seemed pleased. Her hand had touched him, too, as if silk threads weaving him, bit by bit, tearing him to locks and instantaneously taking him whole completing an intricate pattern of wonderful embroidery.
The fire she had earlier built had caught up with them, unable to distinguish whether the sweat was from their nearness to the burning wood, or due to the heated moment.
Somehow, they had managed to find their way to her room. But neither of them had noticed the difference. Sure, the winter atmosphere had frozen her bedroom, but neither of them had chilled from the change of gradient. Their bodies had only felt warm skin, and their eyes had only seen flushed cheeks.
They blended into the cheap covers of her bed and melted into the stiff mattresses. But they both never stopped wandering. His lips had traveled to her toes, and her toes had found his nape. Their fingers had locked a hundred times, and their hair had appeared like colored sand of black and pink mixed and spread out in an ocean of fiery fervor.
To say that she had never felt like this before was a cheap cliché and an understatement. This wasn't her first time. In the world of shinobi, she had experienced every training and strategy that could strip innocence off a child, physically and mentally. When she was eighteen, she was assigned in a team who needed to stop the transport of human slaves and young prostitutes. Their plan was working perfectly, until it backfired and she had to sacrifice a part of her to complete this important mission – despite the opposition of her team mates.
After Sasuke, she had also fallen in love once. It was to Sai that she had decided to offer her life to and to spend the rest of her life with – much to Naruto's surprise and loud disapproval. Of course, Naruto, having known both of them most of his life, had eventually accepted the fact that probably Sai would be her key to happiness and that she would be Sai's key to love. They were about to wed, when Sai was killed in battle. A part of her had died with him.
She had lived a promiscuous life after that, unable to deal with another heartbreak. One man to another, only to keep her sane and forget the pain in every climax she received. Her best friend Yamanaka Ino and Naruto had talked her out of it, and taken her back to heal in a smoother process.
But as she had reached her limit and build her desire again and again, she questioned herself if tonight would just be another bout of promiscuity, a hidden desire brought about by her old fantasies of having Uchiha Sasuke comfort her and sleep with her. She didn't really have an answer to that.
"Sakura…" he whimpered in the midst of their rapid and random lovemaking. He whimpered, and her knees gave way. And in an instant, their bodies had once again molded to one magnificent sculpture of pain and elation and pure covetousness.
And she had never felt this way before.
Tonight, she didn't give herself away out of love. She knew that much. But she was willing to have him in her bed every night, if it meant this much bliss. However, inasmuch as she wanted to contain that desire, and to bury that unknown familiar feeling, the way he cried out her name stirred everything back to life.
Those cobwebbed hopes had dusted themselves out in the open. A sliver of the arrow had made itself visible and wholly made its way to her heart. It scared her, as true as his kisses melted every snow.
She went to sleep with her head resting on his chest, lulled by his excited heartbeat and rapid breathing, and with his hand wrapped around her bare shoulders. She went to sleep while tracing circles in his chest, eliciting reactions from him. She went to sleep knowing that if he would ask, she would once again be willing to give her heart away. And if he wouldn't, she wouldn't openly give it, but her heart would once again bury its way to the deep caverns of her soul her heart had known by heart.
She had gone to sleep, but he couldn't shut his eyes without opening them again after a second or two. He decided to give up on it. So instead, his eyes wandered across the room, and outside the window, and on her face down to her belly button exposed from the blanket covering her.
So many things kept bothering him. Things he decided to push aside whilst driven by passion earlier. His wound was still aching a bit, but he never really noticed until now. Judging from tonight, however, he could move now, and even start traveling without having to worry of internal bleeding or opening the wound.
She had done a good job healing him. Though, still, he wondered if he should let her continue doing so.
His eyes darted to the sleeping figure beside him again, and he stared at her until dawn. All of a sudden, he gently pushed her hand away, and moved her so that she was lying on her back.
He hovered over her and planted kisses on her hair, to her forehead, all over her face, a long one on the lips, and down to her abdomen, very, very careful not to wake her up.
Once satisfied, he pulled the blanket over her chin, and combed pieces of her hair away from her face.
And then, he got out of the bed in search for his clothes.
She woke up with the events of last night still reeling in her dreams. She then realized that the warm body her skin had grown accustomed to was only imagined.
She was all alone.
He was not in her bed, on her sofa, in the kitchen, nor was he showering in her bathroom.
He was nowhere to be seen, and left no trace at all.
She even doubted if she had just dreamt everything, from his knocking on her door to the passionate events before she slept. Was he just a product of her recently idle mind?
Or did he go away – yet again?
But then again, last night felt surreal! Sasuke kissing her the way he did was way beyond her imaginations. On the other hand, her body wouldn't just have imagined all of those, right?
It didn't matter now, though. He's gone. She didn't know what last night meant to him, but for her, it would mean crawling back to emptiness.
However, it wouldn't be difficult. She had been doing that for years and years. One night of passion couldn't undo everything, could it?
Yes. Definitely not.
So she went to her kitchen, after cleansing her face, to boil water for her tea; and she stood there with the cup on her hand, waiting for the kettle to whistle.
She was back to her own self after a week. That one night with Sasuke was almost a breath away from being a cruel genjutsu she had learned to dispel.
The days went by with her drowning herself with work. That's how she earned her way to medic books, anyway. Sheer hard work and a little talent of perfect chakra concentration.
Dinner would be skipped, she decided, and it'd be best to just head to bed. Maybe after a warm bath to calm her down first.
She was filling her tub with water when she heard knocks on the door. She hurriedly closed the faucet and poured lavender oil on the tub. The knocks came louder and sounded more urgent.
"I'm coming, I'm coming! Jeez!" She shouted.
She had no idea who that was, but she prayed that it wouldn't be about the critical patient she had worked so hard all week to keep alive.
What she didn't know, though, was what awaited her behind that door would once again undo what she had worked so hard for all week.
She yanked the door open, irritation on her face. Surprise instantly replaced her annoyance as she saw Uchiha Sasuke standing on her porch, same clothes as she last saw him, only dirtier, with a bundle of firewood on one hand and a dead dear hanging on his shoulder. His hear was damp with snow and it clung down to his handsome face.
"Sasuke?" she idiotically asked, as if seeing him for the first time in ages.
"Aa. I brought wood for the fire and meat for dinner," he said, as if standing outside her house, with freshly dead deer was the most normal thing in the world.
Bewildered, she blinked twice and suddenly laughed so hard at the stupidity of the situation.
"Sasuke, you dumb-ass, people don't hunt deer for food anymore. They actually sell meat in the market," she taunted, side-stepping to let him in.
"Hn. You're annoying, Sakura."
Among the dry winds
We'll become a spring that never dries
From here it begins
The one and only story about you
A/N: *nosebleeding!* I hope Sasuke had brought flowers instead of deer carcass, ne! Sasuke no baka!
Ok, that's all the lemons I can give you. I'm sorry if it's a bit short of a lemon, but the rating's a T. I hope you had somehow enjoyed this fic!
Thanks for everyone who gave their reviews, I love them! and for those who faved this fic... This is the first serial fic I have ever finished, and I'm kinda proud of it... XD And I'm happy for making this fic a happy ending! Thanks everyone!
Oh, and Sasuke and Sakura are both around their 40's. I hope that doesn't put some of you off... You might not be into geriatric love affairs. hehe... :3
Thanks again! It's been fun!
Watashi-tachi no Monogatari - The Story About Us